


In Your Eyes (To the Inspector)

by PunsBulletsAndPointyThings



Series: FanFic Poetry [3]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, More Poetry, Valjean's POV, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings/pseuds/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is that fear I see in your eyes, Inspector? Do you fear me now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Eyes (To the Inspector)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, I wrote more fanfic poetry.

Anger.  
So much anger.  
Hate burns in your eyes like a fire and your passion  
is so hot that it wounds me.  
Weak as I am.  
Oh yes  
I know.  
  
Does that surprise you?  
Does it surprise you to know that I run out of pure, selfish fear?  
You have always called me a coward in the night.  
And you have always been correct.  
You are so often right about me  
when no one else is.  
When no one else can catch my lies  
you see right through them  
as if they were naught but glass.  
  
It is almost humorous  
in a cruel  
ironic  
way.  
That you―  
my constant pursuer  
the source of my starts  
and glances thrown over my shoulder  
at dancing shadows in the night;  
whose name  
can cause fear  
so white–hot it brings tears to my eyes  
to bloom  
deep in my stomach;  
sending it’s thorn-garbed vines  
creeping up through my chest  
to wrap around my heart  
and smother it―  
  
You  
are perhaps  
the one person on this earth  
who knows me best.  
Perhaps better than I myself.  
  
And that is why I laugh  
and why it sounds so wrong  
(I know it does, for I see the new emotions in your eyes  
tinting the anger  
with shock,  
confusion,  
and,  
is that fear, Inspector?  
Do you fear me now?)  
echoing from my lips.  
  
For how can one  
who knows me so well  
know so damned little  
all at once?  
  
You and I,  
we spend our days  
trapped  
(Or did we choose this?  
I know not.)  
in a never-ending dance.  
Circling,  
lunging,  
testing one another for weakness,  
for cracks in our armor―  
I know you have found many in mine―  
but never striking.  
  
Perhaps  
like me  
you know  
that should one of us strike,  
should we break our eternal dance,  
you will draw blood  
and I will run  
just as I always do.  
  
Run from the fire  
burning in your eyes.


End file.
